The Morning Wilbur Was Ill
by all continues to be well
Summary: actbw: A short drabble exploring the dynamic between Molly Weasley II and her boyfriend Wilbur Blishwick on a morning when he wakes up looking under the weather.


"Your nose is red."

"Lucy has already told me. Is it common in your household to point out the obvious?"

She ignored his bitter tone. "Don't be annoyed at me just because you're ill, Wilbur Archibald Blishwick. If you had worn your winter socks this would never have happened."

Rolling his eyes, Wilbur merely sat down. Without even thinking about it, the boy slid his arm around his girlfriend's waist; a rather casual action that he had started doing before they had even begun going out. Molly and Wilbur were the sort of pair who had acted like a couple even before it was deemed official; acting like husband and wife since day one so it was a slap in the face when Molly tugged herself out of his arms this morning.

"You're sick," she remarked, pushing his arm away. "If we sit too close you'll infect me too."

"You're joking aren't you?"

"Nope," Molly shook her head, continuing to read over her Ancient Runes notes. The paper, although read nearly a dozen times already, was in pristine condition with only a few written in alterations. It was a pity that even after so much hard work, Molly was destined to only get 68% in her mock test. She was impressively mediocre when it came to academia, no matter how much time and effort she put into studying.

"But what if this lasts for weeks!"

Wilbur sighed when she only itched a further inch away from him; the idea of being sick for weeks truly terrifying her. What would she do if she was too ill to study?! She'd end up failing all of her tests. Molly could not have such a blemish on her reputation. She just couldn't.

"Mol," he began as he poured himself a cup of tea, "Please, I'm feeling awful. Can you just give me a hug and I promise I'll not bother you for physical affection until I'm better, okay?"

She turned her head slightly to look at him then. Wilbur truly did look awful; he had a bright red nose (as previously stated) but the rest of his face was far paler than normal and his eyes blood shot. "What exactly is wrong with you?" she asked.

"I'm not a healer, Mol. How am I supposed to know?" he replied, frowning at such a stupid question. He did little enough work as it was to begin with without also looking up illnesses.

Molly did not seem to think that her question was stupid in the slightest however: "Go to the hospital wing right this instant, Wilbur!"

"I'll go after breakfast."

"Now, Wilbur," she ordered. "I'm going to take you now. Come on."

Why his girlfriend was such a control freak Wilbur did not know. He did however obediently get to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets and began to idly follow her out of the room. By the time the determined Molly had reached the doors to the Great Hall, he still hadn't reached the end of Slytherin's table. When he did finally reach the door he was about to assure her that there was nothing to worry about, when a little blonde first year appeared by his side.

"Are you feeling better, Wilby?" the little girl asked, pulling on his shirt sleeve.

At the age of eleven, Lucy Weasley was utterly adorable. Being the youngest of the Weasleys had allowed her to be constantly babied by everyone, something she wasn't going to lose quickly if ever. With her short stature, angelic features and thoroughly rosy cheeks, Lucy looked much younger than her years especially now when she seemed so worried about Wilbur.

"I'm absolutely fine, Lu. I'm just feeling a bit rubbish," he assured her, ruffling her hair.

Still Lucy looked absolutely heartbroken at the idea that something could be seriously wrong with Wilbur. She loved him dearly. It didn't help that Molly remarked, "He's not fine. He hasn't been to the Hospital Wing so we can find out what is wrong with him. He could be dying from an infectious disease for all we know. No, Lucy! Don't touch him!" The first year girl had reached to give Wilbur the hug he so desperately wanted, but Molly was quick to pull her back. "If you get sick you'll miss out on school and you'll fall behind. Do you want to do as awfully as Roxanne? Because if you don't go to lessons you'll do even worse than her."

"That is a bit dramatic, Mol," said Wilbur.

His amused smile only rattled Molly's cage more. "Go to the Hospital Wing. Now!"

"I thought you were accompanying me?" he replied, "What if I faint walking up the stairs?"

Lucy's eyed widened, frantically looking around for anyone who could help. "Should I get Fred?" she asked, "To carry Wilbur if he faints?"

"Wilbur isn't going to faint," Molly stated firmly, but her eyes betrayed her worry for the boy.

The couple stared at each other for a moment; Wilbur not knowing whether to be apologetic or amused at Molly's clear anxiety over his health, while Molly seemed to use the moment to try to silently get across to Wilbur how much she needed him to not argue back for once. She knew she could be bossy and overbearing sometimes (a lot of the time, in fact most of it) but now she needed to know that he was okay.

"I promise I won't faint, Lu," the sickly boy finally said. "Now go off and get something to eat so you don't faint. Molly is right; we can't have you missing classes."

"Okay, Wilby." Smiling, Lucy gave Wilbur a peck on the cheek before scurrying off to the Hufflepuff table where she was flocked at in awe by her fellow first year girls over her clear friendship with the sixth year Slytherin.

Molly pressed her lips together as she watched the kiss, making a mental note to tell Madam Burdock that Lucy was liable to come down with whatever sickness this was. Honestly it was just careless that Wilbur had allowed Lucy to touch him to begin with.

Ten minutes later Wilbur was sitting on a bed in the Hospital Wing. He had managed to get there without fainting (a fact he had joked about and earned a glare from Molly for), and was now waiting for Madam Burdock to finish her examination of him. On the other side of the closed curtain, Molly could be heard complaining loudly that she should be allowed to be at her boyfriend's bedside. "Unless you are a relative of Mr Blishwick's you will wait outside, Miss Weasley," the nurse had told her before drawing the curtain's closed on her face.

"Your girlfriend has a bit of a temper, Mr Blishwick," Madam Burdock said once done. "But she will be happy to know you have nothing more than a common cold. You need to wrap up warmer with it getting so chilly outside. I'll just get you some tonic and then you can be on your way. Would you like to tell Miss Weasley that she needn't start planning a funeral or should I?"

"I'll tell her. It's fine," he assured her while sitting up.

The curtain was opened, revealing the absolutely livid Molly Weasley. Wilbur had never seen his girlfriend give such a dirty look than the one Madam Burdock received and he had been on the receiving end of many of her dirty looks.

"That cow!" she exclaimed, leaving her voice quiet enough for only Wilbur to hear. Molly was not brave enough to say such a thing to the nurse's face. "Can you believe she didn't let me in here? Who does she think she is-?!"

"Molly-" Wilbur tried to interrupt.

"Such audacity from a mere school nurse! The Minister would not stand for this if he knew such things were happening in Hogwarts. I am the closest thing to family you have here, she should have let me in. Besides, what a stupid rule! I have ten relatives currently living in Hogwarts, if I was sick would she let all of them in? Because I tell you now James would be absolutely bloody useless in such a situation. I'm going to complain- I'm going to-"

The ranting girl was interrupted as Wilbur, who had stood up during her monologue, took her hand and pulled her close so he could settle his lips against hers in a kiss. He had thought, rather naively, that it would be a romantic gesture, but Molly's hands forcing him away from her seemed to dictate otherwise. "Are you trying to get me sick too?" she asked incredulously.

"No I was trying to get you to shut up so I can tell you that I just have a cold. Madam Burdock has gone to get me some tonic and then we can go off to class."

"You're not dying?"

"Most assuredly not."

Molly pressed her lips together for the second time in the last twenty minutes. Wilbur briefly wondered if he should tell his girlfriend that she looked like his toothless Great Aunt Ethel when she pressed her lips together, but decided against it. It didn't seem like the appropriate time.

"Good," Molly finally replied just as Madam Burdock arrived with the sickly glass of Cold-Curing Tonic. "I don't see why you were being so dramatic – you were acting like you were on your deathbed. Honestly," she huffed. Crossing her arms, Molly went on to wait with her usual prudish expression for him to drink the foul concoction before leading him off to class.

Wilbur received no more sympathy for his health until several years later when he caught another cold. Suffice to say, Molly's reaction was just as dramatic as it had been the first time.


End file.
